


you know i'm not a bad girl (but i'd do bad things with you)

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: “Hey! How was it? Are you officially a sugar baby now?”“He’s paying for my life while I get my Masters, so maybe. And he’s really sweet. And he’s agreed we’ll have coffee or dinner when he’s in town. And he...fuck, he’s so fucking hot.”
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 20
Kudos: 229





	you know i'm not a bad girl (but i'd do bad things with you)

**A/N:** Um...you could say this was _heavily_ inspired by Vision in a suit in ep 5. Not sorry. It got out of hand because these idiots decided to develop trauma and feelings instead of it just being smut. Leave a comment if you enjoy the filth, it encourages me! :D

I'm on twitter and tumblr **@mximoffromanoff** if anyone wants to chat about all things scarletvision!

**Warning: Vision is fifteen years older than Wanda in this AU. She is twenty-five and he's forty. This is not a kink for either of them, but it is present in the story.**

* * *

Darcy walks into the flat in her usual manner - loudly. Dropping her bag to the floor with a clatter and shouting, "I had a _fucking_ day, we are ordering _pizza_!"

Monica rolls her eyes and picks up her laptop to continue work in her bedroom, while Wanda looks up from staring down at her phone screen and her bank account. "I can't fucking afford pizza," she says, and Darcy's face softens into sympathy.

"My treat," she says, and Wanda groans, burying her face in the couch cushions. "Wanda?"

"I got paid _last week_ , and I'm already broke again," she mumbles into their couch. "My boss sneered at me for all my tights being laddered but I can't afford new ones-"

"I can spot you ten bucks for a pack of tights, it's not a big deal-"

"And I spend all my free time stinking of fucking beer and sticky and getting hit on by gross drunk men who don't like being told no and dreaming about being able to go do my masters and actually be a counsellor but at this fucking rate I'll be sixty and out of time before _that_ happens-"

"Okay, do you want a glass of wine? Or an entire bottle?" She can hear the sounds of Darcy moving around the apartment, and there's a hand soothingly stroking her hair.

"Is there any vodka?"

"No, you drank that when that Tinder guy ghosted you two weeks ago."

"Wine will do."

They get entirely down one bottle and half of another before Wanda looks up from the grease stains that are all the remains of the pizza she couldn't keep fighting Darcy ordering for her and says, "Sorry. I know all you hear is me whining about money-"

"Do you want me to cover your rent next month?" Darcy asks, her fourth glass of wine in her hand but her eyes clear, and Wanda starts to shake her head. "Well, can I at least cover your share of the food bill?"

"Darce, I don't need help-"

"You know you're doing something incredible, doing college and living in New York and having absolutely nothing to fall back on," Darcy says, her voice sharp, the lecture Wanda gets probably every few months from her friends. "My parents pay my way. I can bat my eyelashes at my dad and he'll cover your rent so you can look for a job where you don't have to put up with drunk men staring at your tits-"

"I'm not asking-"

"No, I'm _offering_ ," Darcy insists, and Wanda stares down at the fizzing surface of her wine, blinking. "I want you to be able to go back to school and get your Masters and not get stuck working in bars forever. And you know Mon wants the same."

"I just...I feel left behind," Wanda says faintly, drawing her knees up to her chest. "You're back at school and you don't have to scrounge pennies together just for a chocolate bar. Mon has her amazing high-powered job and wears suits every day-"

"Okay, my parents pay for _everything_ and Mon works for her _mom's_ company, you can't compare yourself-"

"I feel _trapped_ ," she says, and Darcy quietens, her concerned gaze settling heavily on Wanda. She takes another slug of wine and says, "I just...I just need some fucking _money_."

"You could ask Mon to put in a good word-"

"I don't want to work in fucking security," Wanda groans, pitching herself forward to lie face-down on the couch. She feels the cushion lower as Darcy sits down next to her, her friend's hand rubbing her back, and mumbles, "Any good suggestions?"

"You could always get yourself a sugar daddy," Darcy says, so cheerfully, and Wanda's head jerks up from amongst the couch cushions. "Kidding!" A smirk unfurls over her face and her eyes gleam. "Unless...you know, you don't even have to have sex with them. Apparently some guys just get off on spoiling pretty girls. I bet you could find one."

"I don't want like...designer bags and expensive holidays-"

"Then find one who'll pay your tuition," Darcy says. "I bet you could do it." Then she pours them both another glass of wine, and starts talking about the hot TA in one of her classes who she's trying to figure out how to run into, and the topic of financial woes seems to get left behind in the tequila coming out.

She wakes up with a groove in her face from falling asleep face down on her mascara-stained pillow, her mouth sour with stale alcohol, and her phone alarm buzzing somewhere near her elbow. Straightening herself up, running a hand through the wild mess of her hair that seems to have gotten drunk with her, she reaches for her phone and almost drops it at the sheer number of notifications blurring her screen. Opening Twitter, she finds the thread she drunk-tweeted last night about her financial situation seems to have gone slightly viral.

And there's a message waiting in her DMs. One that she gets to only after blocking the creepier accounts, and liking a lot of tweets agreeing with what she said, and having a cup of coffee to calm herself down after seeing BuzzFeed wrote an article about her.

 **VictorShade:** **I hope I'm not being too forward. A friend of mine showed me your thread, and my heart truly goes out to you. I understand how difficult it can be to pursue your future when you have no roots. You say you live in Manhattan currently. I live there too, and I will be back from a business trip to LA in three days. I know you have no reason to trust a perfect stranger, but I have too much money and very little to do with it. I have no expectations of you. I just want to help out someone who seems like they need it.**

She wakes Darcy up screeching, " _Holy shit_!" when she Googles 'Victor Shade net worth'.

* * *

The bell over the door of the tiny coffeeshop jingles merrily when she pushes it open, drawing the eyes of every customer to her. It's enough to make her question everything she's wearing, whether they can tell that her hair is tugged up in a high ponytail because she didn't wash it, if her skirt is too short, if she should turn around and go home, if Monica was right and she's putting too much trust in a complete stranger and is about to end up shoved in the back of a car being driven to God knows where.

 _I will be wearing blue and sitting at a booth in the back. If you get there before me, please order me an Earl Grey tea_. She runs over those words in her head, the last message she received from the mysterious Victor Shade. Not much of him exists on the Internet aside from a Twitter, an Instagram, a Wikipedia page, and various articles from tech publications about his company. He's been tagged in more photos on Tony Stark's Instagram than are even posted on his own, and she curls her fingers into fists as she sits at an empty booth in the back, across from someone with their laptop open among a scattering of notes and the wild-eyed look of someone on a deadline.

She's smoothing her skirt down over her thighs just for something to do with her hands when the bell rings again, and she looks up through the steam twirling up from the two mugs on the table. And she has to catch herself when her jaw slackens slightly at the man walking across the coffeeshop and folding his considerable length into the booth opposite her. Victor Shade, pioneer of AI technology, billionaire. _Gorgeous_ , all perfectly styled blonde hair and cheekbones and blue eyes, and she's eyeing the line of his neck into the dark blue sweater and crossing her legs beneath the table, flirtation warming her smile.

"Ms. Maximoff?" he asks softly, and she nods. There's something about his voice, the softness, his accent, paired with those _eyes_. She's flushing already, and under other circumstances she would be sliding her phone out beneath the table and telling the group chat she won't be home tonight. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

"It was your suggestion," she says, and something guarded flares in his face. "Can I...calling you Mr. Shade feels like I'm in high school again. Can I call you Victor?"

"Vision," he says softly, and his eyes on hers are a distraction, shades of blue that connect to the sky and the ocean and every other cliché. He smiles slightly, and her heart flutters, and she tells herself sternly to stop, to not smile so coquettishly and to stop leaning forward so the neckline of her shirt pulls lower. "Most people call me Vision. No one has called me Victor in a long time."

"It's nice to meet you, Vision," she says, and he gives her a small smile. She shifts on the seat and takes a sip of her coffee to distract herself. It feels like they should make small talk, she should tell him about the pigeon she saw carrying an entire waffle down the street while waiting for her bus. But she's not on a first date, and her mouth reminds her of that when it gamely says, "So what exactly are you proposing here?"

"My friend showed me your tweets as a joke, but I do understand your feelings," he says, and she nods. She's far too captivated by the way his lips shape his words, and has to make herself focus on the conversation. "You want to be a therapist, correct?"

"I want to specialise in adolescents and young adults," she says, and he smiles. "But I have to go back to school for that."

"Ms. Maximoff," he says, and something about her name in _that voice_ floods heat between her thighs, "I am offering exactly what I said I was. I want to help you."

"But what does that _mean_?" she asks. "So you want to be, like...my sugar daddy?"

He winces, and says, "Please don't say that. I'm not offering that." He shifts in the booth, glancing around them, and lowers his voice to say, "Ms. Maximoff, you said in your tweets that you struggle to pay for rent and food and have very little hope of being able to pay for college."

"God, you don't have to spell it out like that, I know my struggles," she says, and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile. "Are you offering to start picking up my rent and my food and send me to college? Like a loan, but from a person?"

"Exactly," he says, and she chokes on the sip of coffee she takes to conclude her sentence. "How much is your rent, Ms. Maximoff?"

"I don't understand," she says, and he just gazes at her steadily. "You're a _billionaire_. A proper one. You invented a fancy AI and you want to give your money to _me_?"

"You need help, like so many of us do," he says, and she stares at him. He can't possibly be innocently motivated. "Plenty of my money goes to charity. But I'm not married, and I don't have children. I have godchildren, but they are from rich families and will never need me to save money for them. You have a dream that you can't realise because of money problems. I want to help."

"And what do you want from me?" she asks, and he blinks in confusion. "Don't look at me like that. You can't want to do this for me and not want something in return. I'm not going to sleep with you, so-"

" _Oh_ , um...Ms. Maximoff, I would _never_ ," he says, colour collecting in his cheeks, and something about him blushing makes her insides twist. Maybe she was lying. "I don't want anything from you. I just want to help. No strings attached, I promise. I don't have to be in your life in any way except a deposit in your bank account."

"You're talking about paying for my _life_ , and you don't want anything in return?" she asks, and he nods with a small smile. This can't be real. A man like him _can't_ be real. "Not even to...I don't know, parade me around as your little girlfriend at some fancy business function?"

"Do you think I would want that?" he asks, and he looks wounded. Hurt.

She simply shrugs. "We've known each other for about ten minutes without a screen between us. I don't know anything about you, and you don't know anything about me."

"Then tell me something about you," he says, and there's something so kind and genuine in his eyes. He's not what she expected. "And I'll tell you something about me. Then we can discuss the terms of our agreement."

"Well, what do you want to know?" she asks, crossing her legs, and wishing he would give some indication of whether or not he's attracted to her. Reading his Wikipedia page and squinting at the techno-babble in profiles from publications didn't prepare her to find him quite so handsome. "I'm twenty-five, I'm a bartender, I have two roommates who I met at college, I want a dog really badly but our landlord doesn't allow pets, I was born in Sokovia-"

"Sokovia?" he asks, and his eyes are bright. "I visit Sokovia every year. It's beautiful."

"I feel like I should thank you, but I've got nothing to do with how beautiful it is, and I haven't been back since I left at eighteen," she says, and he just nods. She watches his fingers curl around the handle of his mug and feels heat on the back of her neck, adjusting herself in her seat. "You're English, right?"

"Ms. Maximoff, I am aware that I have a publicly available Wikipedia page," he says, and she smiles slightly. "But yes. London, to be precise."

"Do you want me to pretend like I didn't read your Wiki?" she asks, and the smile keeps pulling at the corners of his mouth. It brightens his eyes, and it makes her breath catch somewhere in the hollows of her chest. "Tell me something that isn't on there. I don't know, something random."

"I suppose...I also want a dog," he says, and she smiles, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. "But I travel too much. It wouldn't be fair to have any pet when I spend so much of the year away from home." He shifts in the seat and says, "To tell you the truth, Ms. Maximoff, I would like to stay at home. It's an unfortunate side effect of creating a revolutionary AI that you can no longer enjoy most of your time alone at home."

"We can swap jobs for a day if you want," she says, and he grins at her. A wide grin that makes his eyes shine and makes several filthy thoughts intrude on her.

"I think I would enjoy telling off the sort of people who make you feel uncomfortable at your job, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she grins.

"Maybe they'd hit on you harder than they hit on me," she says. And when he smiles and starts to talk, they settle into the rhythm of conversation, getting to know each other. It's better than the last date she went on, with the guy from Tinder who stopped answering her messages after giving her a shitty goodnight kiss.

At least until he glances at the no doubt very expensive watch wrapped around his wrist and his eyes go wide. "I'm sorry, Ms. Maximoff, I didn't realise how long we'd been talking for, you're wasting the day away with me-"

"I like talking to you," she says, and colour lines his cheekbones. And she gives him a smile across the booth. "You're much more fun than your dry-ass Wiki makes you seem."

"Well...I...regardless, we are here for a purpose," he says, and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. He smooths it out on the table between them and clicks a pen into life, blue eyes meeting hers across the table. "I want to have a written version of our agreement, Ms. Maximoff. It will not be legally binding. But I want the boundaries to be very clear between us. I don't want you to ever feel uncomfortable."

"I'm not-"

"I want to be clear about what we expect from each other," he says, and her mouth snaps shut into a silent nod. "I'm offering to cover your tuition for whatever course you would like to study, and your monthly expenses like rent and food and transport. We can also discuss allowing you a monthly allowance so you won't need to keep a job you clearly dislike."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a business transaction, Vision, I'm a _person_ ," she says, and he looks away from her, shame lining his face. "You haven't explained why you're offering any of this in the first place."

"You know my story, Ms. Maximoff," he says. "You know that I started from the care system. Nothing. And I've had a lot of luck. I want to help you find your luck. And I don't want anything in return."

"But-"

"I know what people think when they hear about arrangements like this," he says. "I've seen them happen with other people in tech. Other very rich men like me. I don't want to parade you around in front of colleagues or fly you all over the world or buy you diamonds. I want to help you start your life."

"Okay, but is there anything in that agreement that says we can't be friends?" she asks, and he blinks at her.

"Would you like me to write that in?" he asks, and he's serious, so sincere, hand already moving towards the paper before she reaches over and catches his wrist in her fingers, stilling him. His skin is warm beneath her hand, and the first moment of contact hangs suspended in time, their eyes meeting, the stutter of his breath and her temptation to say something that will lead them down the path he says he doesn't want.

"I don't want you to be a faceless deposit in my bank account," she says, and his eyes on hers are heavy with some sort of sadness. "Look, Vision, you're sweet. We just spent, like, an hour sitting here talking. Let's be friends. I know you're being glamorous and jetting off all over the world a lot of the time, but is it a lot to ask that we get coffee or dinner and talk?"

"You...you want to be friends?" he asks, shades of insecurity strung through his voice, and she wonders at what's made someone who seemingly has everything talk like that. "Ms. Maximoff, you have no obligation to be friends with an old man like me-"

"Forty is not old," she says, and flashes him her flirtatious smile. "I'm just young. And maybe I want the benefit of all your worldly experience." She doesn't mean for that to come out as flirty as it did, for it to be so much of an innuendo. But he looks momentarily flustered, his cheeks colouring and his eyes darkening, and she wonders if she can lean into this to persuade him.

"Won't you be too busy with classes to make time for someone you barely know?" he asks, and she shakes her head, a smile on her lips, moving her thumb over his wrist where her hand is still on his arm. "Well...if you're sure, Ms. Maximoff-"

"I'm as sure as I am that I want you to just call me Wanda," she says, and takes the pen from his hand, turning the paper towards her and scrawling her signature on it. "I know this isn't binding, but I'm making a point. I'm agreeing to this. All of it."

He smiles into her eyes, making her chest clench and heat flutter in her stomach, and takes the pen from her, signing his name next to hers. His handwriting is small and cramped, and she's sure that someone could tell her what that means about his personality. But she's caught up in looking at his face, those eyes that will colour her dreams, the hollows of his cheekbones that she's imagining fitting her thumbs to, kissing that perfect mouth. "Send me your bank account details," he says. "And the course you want to be studying in September. I will start making arrangements for payments tonight."

"I...I kinda don't know what I'm supposed to say," she says, and he just smiles. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says, and she wants to lean across the booth and completely throw out the terms they just set out for themselves by kissing him. "Do you have money for a cab home, or can I help?"

"I'll take the subway," she says, and he starts to protest. "I'll be fine. Look, I'll text you when I get home if that'll reassure you."

"It would," he says, and she slides out of the booth and away from him before she does something stupud and libido-driven. Like sit in his lap and kiss him and get in a cab with him instead of going home.

The apartment is in its usual tableau when she walks in, Monica sitting at the dining table on her laptop and Darcy sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her stomach and _The Bachelorette_ on the TV. "Hey!" she shouts as Wanda closes the door and toes off her shoes. "How was it? Are you officially a sugar baby now?"

"He's paying for my life while I get my Masters, so maybe," she says, and both her roommate's heads shoot up in surprise. "And he's really sweet. And he's agreed we'll have coffee or dinner when he's in town. And he... _fuck_ , he's so fucking hot."

Monica looks scandalised, while Darcy wrinkles her nose. "Really? A tech guy is that hot? I mean, Tony Stark isn't to be sniffed at, but-"

"Darce, Google him," Wanda says, and Monica buries her head in her hands as Darcy reaches for her phone and the bowl of popcorn falls off the couch and all over the floor.

There are thirty seconds of silence, and then Darcy looks up and says, "You have to sleep with him."

"Believe me, I'm gonna try."

* * *

Closing the apartment door behind her and unzipping her boots, Wanda rolls her eyes when Darcy appears from the kitchen with a glass of wine and says, "I was starting to think you weren't coming back tonight."

"I wish," she says, hanging up her coat and rubbing the balls of her feet, aching from wearing heels all night to counteract some of her and Vision's height difference. Wasted on him barely even coming close enough to hug. "Still nothing."

"Are you sure you're making it clear enough that you want to sleep with him?" Darcy asks, getting another wine glass out of the cupboard and pouring one for Wanda without being asked. "Want some popcorn?"

"How am I supposed to make it clearer that I want to sleep with him?" Wanda asks, collapsing onto the couch. "Are the short skirts and red lipstick not enough?"

"Are you doing all the things they tell you to do when you're like fifteen and have a crush on the guy in your Algebra class?" Darcy asks, shoving popcorn in the microwave and slamming the door. "You know, like finding excuses to touch him and drawing attention to your mouth and twirling your hair?"

"I've been acting even worse than I did when I was fifteen and had a crush on a boy," Wanda says, and Darcy gives her a sympathetic smile. "I don't think I've ever made it more obvious that I want to sleep with someone without outright saying it."

"Why can't you just outright say it, then?" Darcy asks, dropping the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table and curling onto the couch next to Wanda. "Next time he takes you out for some adorable fucking coffee date, just grab his hand and tell him you want to-"

"Please do not finish that sentence."

"I was gonna say kiss him."

"Were you?"

A smirk unfurls across Darcy's face, making it clear she was already on the wine before Wanda got home, and she says, "Kiss him and then-"

"He was so insistent that there were absolutely no strings attached to the money," she says, cutting across before the conversation can go in a direction she has not had enough to drink for. "I had to convince him to even be friends. Maybe...I don't know, maybe that's why he isn't doing anything even when I pretend not to notice my skirt riding up."

"Maybe he's a boob guy," Darcy says, much too cheerfully. "Did you try that?"

"No, I didn't try just getting my tits out after you've spent the six years we have known each other telling me my boobs are my best asset when we're drinking," Wanda says, rolling her eyes.

"There's no need to be sarcastic," Darcy says, eyebrows arched. "Did he _look_?"

"I _think_ so," Wanda says, and Darcy sighs so hard it flutters her hair. "What? Everyone looks, I can't decide whether he was looking or _looking_!"

"You've been gone for six hours with him, and you still don't know if he was _looking_?" Darcy asks, and Wanda shakes her head. "Jesus Christ. What were you even doing for that long?"

"He took me for coffee, and then he asked if I wanted to come back to his apartment, and he cooked dinner for us," she says, and Darcy buries her head in her hands. " _What_?"

"Jesus H. _fucking_ Christ, you are going on adorable dates with a billionaire and you're still coming home looking thoroughly unfucked, I don't know _why_ we're friends," she says, and Wanda huffs. "What's his apartment like?"

"A penthouse, completely gorgeous," she says. "He _embroiders_. He made cushion covers himself, and they're so pretty. And he made us a delicious dinner and lit candles and played a record. He's too good to be true."

"Oh?" Something about the tone of Darcy's voice makes Wanda look over at her, and she's smirking. "You're not talking like someone who's gonna take his money, fuck him, and then leave him. Are you...falling for him?"

"I...he's _nice_ ," she says, and Darcy gives her a pointed look. "He's a sweetheart. He hasn't tried it on with me once. And I like talking to him. He...he gets it. Me."

"Christ, you went and fell in love with a billionaire and didn't even tell me?" Darcy asks, and a flush steals hot up the back of Wanda's neck. "Ha, you're blushing. That means I'm getting to you."

"I'm not in love!" she insists. "I...maybe I have a bit of a crush-"

"A _lot_ of a crush," Darcy says, and tucks her feet up beneath her. "You need to tell him. Find some perfect moment to do it. You are living a rom com and you have to act like it."

"Well...he invited me to be his date to the Stark Industries Christmas Gala," she says, and Darcy startles upright so quickly she slides off the couch with a yelp. "What?"

"You _have_ to let me come shopping when you buy a dress for that!" Darcy insists, looking smugly surprised at her ability to not spill any wine. "If you don't manage to get him when you're dressed in a beautiful dress and slow dancing with him, then you can't get him."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence in my seduction tactics."

* * *

"Your limo is outside, Cinderella!" Monica shouts from the kitchen, and Wanda double checks her lipstick in her mirror before she walks out her bedroom, heels clicking on the cheap flooring of their apartment.

" _Bitch_!" Darcy squeals, perched on the back of the couch. "You look _hot_! Go get that billionaire dick!"

"Don't let her stay up too late," Wanda tells Monica, who laughs and nods. "I'll be back tomorrow. We're staying in the hotel tonight."

"Steal me some fancy lotion!" Darcy shouts, the last thing Wanda hears before she closes the apartment door and clicks her way down the drab stairwell in her heels, resisting the urge to pull out her compact and check for the thousandth time that she looks good.

She knows she looks good. Because Vision looks up at her and his eyes go wide, and she preens under his heated gaze for the moment she gets it. Before he composes himself and settles back into cool distance. She's getting to him. They're going to be slow dancing all evening, sleeping in adjoining hotel rooms, and she has a condom in her purse. She can get laid tonight.

"You look good in a tux," she says, and watches colour curl into his cheeks. With his hair perfectly styled and those blue eyes shining in his handsome face, the cut of his suit drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs, she can't help the flirtation that creeps into her voice. "Can't wait to dance all night with you."

"You look beautiful," he says softly, and the fine silver mist of the words hang heavy in the air between them. She wants to break the wall between them, press her lips to his on the cold sidewalk, end up in the back of the limo with his body warm beneath hers.

"This old thing?" she asks softly, rolling the satin strap of her dress between two fingers. "Yeah, I just had it lying around."

He smiles softly, and says, "No you didn't."

"No, I didn't," she says, and his eyes are shining down at her, and she can feel how soft her face is. Darcy teasing her about having real feelings for Vision floats back to her, and she tries to shake it off. "Everything I'm wearing is new."

"You didn't have to spend your money for tonight-"

"It's _your_ money in _my_ account," she says. "What is the point of having you if I don't buy myself pretty dresses and jewellery?"

"For you to change your life," he says softly, and the gentle smile on his face pierces right through her. "I want you to be happy when this all ends."

The thought of it ending has sadness wrapping around her, and she distracts herself climbing into the limo, watching the Christmas lights fly by before they reach the Gala. A red carpet awaits, and Vision offers her his arm to help her out of the limo, the lights flashing in her eyes and her dress swirling around her in the cold air. Vision walks quickly, his head down, avoiding reporters, and they're inside before she knows it, sitting at a table surrounded by people she vaguely knows are famous for tech and having money, and she's picking at dinner and trying not to feel out of her depth.

Their table empties as people leave to dance and mingle and hover at the bar, and she turns to Vision, quietly asking, "How long do we have to stay?"

He chuckles softly, and says, "Just long enough that Tony won't be offended. We are staying in the rooms upstairs, after all. These galas get a little loud, no point trying to sleep."

"It's an open bar, right?" she asks, and he nods, eyes dancing with laughter. "Okay then." She picks up her champagne glass and clinks it against his. "To getting through this."

"To getting through this," he says, and she smiles as she watches him drink. The motion of his throat as he swallows makes sweat gather beneath the seams of her dress, and she grabs one of the champagne bottles from the ice bucket at the centre of the table to refill her glass and distract herself.

The night drifts on, and at some point she looks up and Tony Stark and Peppers Potts are sitting opposite her. She hastily adjusts herself in her seat, pulling at her dress to hide just how much of her thigh the slit in the satin is showing from all her tugging, and can only blink when Tony claps Vision on the shoulder and says, "You need to have more fun, big guy."

"I am having plenty of fun sitting here quietly," Vision says, and turns to Wanda with a smile that makes her heart flutter and her thighs clench together. "Tony, this is Ms. Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, this is Tony Stark."

"Pretend not to know who he is, he loves it," Pepper stage whispers to her, and Tony grins.

"My wife just loves being the most famous person in the room," he says, and shakes Wanda's hand. "Lovely to meet you, Ms. Maximoff. How did you wrangle the invite?"

" _Tony_ -"

"Pep, I can't keep track of all the people we invite to the shindig," Tony says, and his wife rolls her eyes so dramatically a champagne-bright giggle bubbles out of Wanda's chest.

"I came with Vizh," she says, the nickname just slipping out of her, leaning towards him and tucking her hand over his wrist. He smiles at her, and heat spreads in her stomach, and she wants to press close to him in front of all these people. "I guess...I don't know, am I your date?"

"A _date_?" Tony exclaims, his gaze swinging wildly between Wanda and Vision.

"We're friends," Vision says, smoothing over everything, the look on Tony's face, and Wanda tries not to let it show on her face that she's disappointed.

"It's nice to see you not alone," Pepper says, giving Tony a look that Wanda has had a touch too much champagne to read properly.

"Yeah, are you finally over Eve?" Tony asks, and silence descends on the table. A long silence, crackling with tension, and she just stares at Vision, the way his jaw clenches and his fingers flex.

"Come dance with me," he says suddenly, taking her hand, and his fingers sliding between hers is enough to have her stumbling away from the table. He pulls her close amongst the other couples, his hand spreading across the small of her back, fingertips five pinpoints of flame against her skin through her dress. The heels of her shoes mean she can just about reach to rest her chin on his shoulder, their bodies close as the music spirals through the air, gold and glowing and distracting.

The night drifts away in those dances, his hand wrapped around hers, his hand on her back, the warmth of his breath on her neck. More drinking, talking with other people who greet Vision as a friend while she hangs back and watches the way he stands straighter when people ask about his work, when people congratulate him on his latest breakthrough. Thinking about what Tony said, about the woman in Vision's past. Wondering how best to ask him about it.

It's past midnight when Vision sees her yawning and checks his watch, gasping, "Oh goodness, I'm so sorry, Wanda. I've kept you up too late."

"I was awake later than this two nights ago watching TV," she says, and he shakes his head, hand landing on the small of her back again and sending her mind in ten different decidedly dirty directions.

"Let me walk you up," he says softly, and his voice sends a shiver through her, thick and slow with champagne. The climb up the stairs is the longest of her life, a war between two voices in her head the entire way. One that tells her that she needs to let him make the move since he set the boundary, and one that tells her to slam him back against the wall and kiss him.

Outside the door to her room, she tries her best to look appealing, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes and breathily saying, "Thank you for inviting me. I had _such_ a nice night."

"This has been the best night I've had at the gala in years," he says softly, and then colour steals into his face, and she smiles slightly. "Um...goodnight, Wanda."

"Night, Vizh," she breathes, and before she can second guess herself she wraps her arms around his neck and draws him into a hug. His cologne wraps around her, the soft material of his blazer beneath her hands, and she catches her hand straying to his face, gently tracing the line of his cheekbone.

And her breath hitches, hard, when he turns his head and kisses her palm. His lips are soft, warm and full on her sensitive skin, and she snatches her hand away like she's been burned. Their eyes meet, and for a desperate moment she can almost feel the tension pulling taut between them, waiting for him to break it and kiss her, tilting her head up in anticipation.

Then he mumbles a short, "Goodnight," and spins away from her, his keycard beeping as he lets himself in his room. And she's fumbling for her keycard, almost dropping it, letting herself into her room and unbuckling her shoes from her aching feet before she slumps back against the door and stares tipsily at her hand.

He _kissed_ her. And his lips were perfect, and she can still feel the weight of his hand on her back, his eyes above hers while their bodies matched in a perfect dance, and there's heat flooding into the pit of her stomach, and there's just enough champagne in her for her to not feel bashful about stripping out of her dress and collapsing back onto the bed, trailing her hand down her stomach and between her legs.

It's been him she's thought about for months, but it's different now, with his kiss burned into her palm, with her imagination spinning how that mouth would feel all over her, thinking about his eyes dark with lust over her, his hand on the small of her back to pull her onto his cock. When she plunges two fingers into herself, she groans, " _Vizh_ ," just loud enough to imagine that he can hear her through the wall separating their hotel rooms. Imagining him on the other side of that wall, touching himself as he listens to her. Maybe he'll knock at the door, wrench it open and give her what she wants, what she's been aching for since she met him.

She comes with a wordless cry, hips arching up into her fingers, and lies panting on the bed. He's still with her now, she's imagining him kissing her hand like that in their afterglow, curling up to his warm length and the scent of his cologne. Head swimming with champagne and aftershocks, she imagines him on the other side of the wall, and kisses her fingers before pressing them to the plaster, hoping he can feel her willing him to walk through that door and take her in his arms.

The sunlight streaming through the window she forgot to close the curtains over wakes her up, with the stale stickiness of champagne at the back of her throat and a thin veil of shame coating her when she remembers how hard she came thinking about Vision. But she forces herself to leave it in the hotel bed and shower off the night before, changing into a short skirt and a sweater and going to knock on the door to Vision's room.

And then the world turns over _again_ when he answers the door. Hair falling in his eyes, pyjamas with a tiny _VS_ embroidered onto the chest pocket, and _glasses_. He twitches his nose to hitch his glasses up, and it's so adorable she almost forgets what she came to ask. "I didn't know you wore glasses," she says softly, and he blushes.

"I just woke up, I haven't had a chance to put my contacts in, I-"

"They look good on you," she says, and he stares at her. His eyes so blue behind those glasses, so soft in the early morning, and she wonders how easy it would be to just kiss him, push him back into the hotel room and close the door behind them and see what happens.

"Do you want me to come get breakfast with you?" he asks after the silence has stretched too long, and she clears her throat.

"Yes," she says, and waits in the corridor for him to change. He's still wearing the glasses when he joins her, and she files that away for the next time she decides to touch herself thinking about him.

And she makes the decision that she's going to sleep with him. Somehow, even if she has to stop all the subtle flirting and hinting and tell him straight out that she wants him.

He wants her too. She can tell from the way he stares at her licking cream off a strawberry from the breakfast selection, his eyes wide behind those glasses and his mouth half-open.

* * *

Monica is at work and Darcy is at her internship when Wanda makes her decision. Maybe if either of them were home, she could've asked them first, but she knows exactly what they'd say. Monica would discourage her, bring up the age difference and the heavy weight of the money between them, and Darcy would tell her to do it. The angel and the devil on her shoulders.

But even Monica at her most mom friend wouldn't try to stop her. She might disapprove, but Wanda has made it increasingly clear since the Gala that she has feelings for Vision. Feelings even she can't untangle, but she knows just how much she lusts after him. And that is the driving force behind her changing out of the leggings and hoodie she was writing an essay in into some of the new lingerie she bought in a fit of daydreams and wine after the Gala, bank account flushed with her allowance from Vision and thinking about him seeing what she uses the money for.

After a moment of questioning, she decides that fishnets are not, in fact, too much, and sends Vision a quick **I'm bored, can I come over?** before she turns her attention to her make-up, all smoky eyes and dark lipstick. Examining herself from every angle to see if she looks seductive enough, fluffing up her hair for that just-fucked look, she almost falls off her stilettos when her phone buzzes.

**If you want to. Working from home today, do you want me to send a taxi for you?**

She smiles slightly, douses herself in a spicy, sexy perfume and creeps into Darcy's room to steal her faux fur coat, wrapping around herself to hide her dress before Vision can see her. She wants to watch his eyes widen behind his glasses, colour flood his cheeks, his tongue dart out to wet his lips. The thoughts keep her warm in the frigid winter air, an Uber arriving for her and whisking her to Vision's building, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the foyer before the elevator takes her to him, her foot tapping in time to the jazz playing in the background.

Vision is waiting for her at the door, and she stares admiringly at him. Navy cashmere sweater, his collar perfectly smooth, his legs so long in dark grey slacks, hair in his eyes and glasses in place, and she's already smirking at the thought of peeling him out of those layers. "Hi," she says, injecting every ounce of flirtation she has into the single word.

"Don't you have college work to do?" he asks, and she laughs, walking past him into the apartment.

"My deadlines are weeks away and I'm ahead," she says, unwrapping her coat as she enters the pleasant warmth, the fresh scent of his place. "I thought I'd come liven up your boring work day."

"It just so happens that my work day is over," he says, and she smiles. "Since the latest launch went well, we've been doing a little less work. Everyone is tired after the festive season."

"And they have a very sweet CEO who doesn't push them to work through it," she says, and colour collects in the hollows of his cheekbones. He may be fifteen years older than her, but it's still wildly easy to make him blush, and she lives for it. "So if you're done, can you hang out with me?"

"It's serendipitous, you coming over," he says, his voice smooth and luxurious and making her long to feel his breath warm on her neck while he whispers something else to her. "I have leftovers that won't keep beyond tonight, but it's too much for one person."

"Do you also have too much wine for one person?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"I don't like you being out at night by yourself after we've been drinking-"

"I could stay over," she says, and lets the flirtation creep into her voice. Into the way she leans towards him on the couch, arching her back uncomfortably to deepen her cleavage in her dress. "I could borrow some pyjamas."

"My clothes would be a little long on you, Wanda," he says, and she laughs, the breathy giggle of seduction. "Will you stay for dinner? Then we can discuss the rest of our night."

"That sounds perfect," she says, and smiles. "Can I show you something?" He glances at her, brow furrowing adorably, and nods. And she pulls at her new necklace, a pretty red jewel hanging on a gold chain. "This only arrived today. It was my present to myself for getting an A in class."

"It's lovely," he says softly, and she adjusts herself on the couch, uncurling her legs to fully display them, rucking up her skirt as she watches his eyes fall, hears his breath hitch. "I...I should start dinner-"

"You said it was leftovers, you only have to reheat them," she says, and lets her fingers drift down the neckline of her dress, watching his gaze following her wandering hand. "And I bought myself something else. I want you to see, since it's your money."

"We agreed you are under no obligation to tell me how you spend the money-"

"You might like it," she breathes, and she sees his face flushing, his eyes darkening with want, his lips slightly parted. And his breathing roughens when she unbuttons her dress before she can question herself, pulling the halves of the bodice apart to show off her bra, the intricate detailing of red and black lace that looked so good against her skin even in the lighting of her apartment. And she flickers her eyes up to his and smiles at the look on his face. "Do you like it?"

"Wanda-"

"You can get a closer look," she breathes, and leans towards him, the light reflecting on his glasses and his gaze wholly focused on her, his fingers flexing at his sides like he's holding himself back.

"I-"

"Vizh, look at me," she whispers, and his eyes flicker up to hers. His pupils are swollen-dark with desire, and though she means to keep teasing she can't stop herself. She leans in and kisses him, her thumb ghosting over his cheekbone before her hand wraps around the back of his neck. And he kisses her _back_.

Triumph sings through her, and she doesn't want to waste time. She's already on a comfortable couch in a half-unbuttoned dress, and she slides into his lap, pushing her breasts against the solid warmth of his chest. His lips are perfect against hers, their mouths fit together, and when she traces her tongue over the seam between his lips he groans softly and lets her in, and heat surges between her thighs.

She kisses him harder and curls her fingers into his hair, and he groans again when her nails scratch the back of his neck. Their hips meet, and she grinds gently into him, a slow circle of her hips that draws a sigh from her own lips at the feeling of him against her. Then his tongue is in her mouth, his hands curling around her waist, and she surges harder into the kiss, clinging to him.

When she has to pull away for a breath, she drops her mouth to his neck, his skin warm and scented with cologne, and her heart is pounding. They're going to have sex, he's holding her and her hips are pressed against his erection and she wants him so badly she can barely breathe with it. When her teeth scrape over his skin, he groans, " _Wanda_ ," and his hand shifts from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her hips firmly against his.

She moans, " _Vizh_ ," into the curve of his neck, rubbing herself against the hard length of him through their clothes. Then his head jerks up, and his hands pull away from her, and he shoves her out of his lap and back onto the couch, his eyes wild.

"I-" He looks horrified, the heat draining from his eyes, his face going pale, and she stares at him. "I'm so sorry, I...I can't."

"Sure feels like you can," she says, letting her gaze fall languidly to the bulge in his slacks, and he shakes his head.

"You shouldn't stay," he says, and her whole body goes cold.

"I-"

"We can't," he says, and turns away from her, locking his body in place, shutting her out. "I'm sorry, Wanda."

She's sprawled on his couch, dress open, heart pounding, the ghost of his fingerprints on her. And she's fighting back the tears stinging her eyes when she chokes, "Can I use your bathroom?" and he nods silently.

The mirror waiting for her shows up some naive girl, her lipstick smeared and her dress open, flushed with kissing. She buttons herself back up and wipes off the lipstick, tears prickling behind her eyes, and when she emerges she goes straight for her coat and her shoes, regretting all these tiny choices that went into this stupid outfit, her attempt at seduction.

Vision is in the same place she left him on the couch, and he slowly turns to look at her as she buttons her coat, still choking back tears. "Wanda-"

"I'm sorry," she says, and he stares. "I put you in a position I shouldn't have. I crossed a line. I guess this means our arrangement is done."

"No, no, Wanda, you've got this wrong, I-"

"I'm sorry," she says one last time, and manages to get into the elevator before the tears fall.

* * *

Manhattan is the place to be while miserable. She's walking on the streets alone, the sky grey and the rain starting to fall, and she's trying not to think. The apartment was too quiet with Monica and Darcy both out, and she's looking just for someone, to feel like she isn't alone. On the worst of days, five years since it happened, five years since she went from a whole to a permanent half. And she insisted she didn't need someone, she _insisted_ , but now she's alone and too afraid to go the graveyard and too upset to go anywhere.

Her phone buzzes, and something akin to relief shoots up through her when she goes to look, expecting it to be Darcy or Monica choosing for her, coming home, telling her to get back to the apartment and they'll share dinner and distractions. But it's just a notification, the usual deposit into her account from Vision's, and her hopes sink. Of all the days to be reminded of just how much she fucked up, it had to be today.

But her fingers move seemingly of their own accord, dialling his number. It's barely six o'clock, he's probably still at the office, or swaying on the subway. But he answers almost immediately, and his soft voice on the, "Wanda?" makes the tears she's been holding back all day spring free.

"Can you talk?" she asks, and it comes out caught in a sob.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and she clasps a hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her sobs. "Wanda? What happened?"

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't do this to you-"

"Wanda, I don't care, I've missed you, tell me why you're crying."

"I...it's the anniversary of my brother dying and I thought I could handle it because it's been five years and I should be okay by now and I said I was okay with being alone so Mon went on a date and Darcy went to her friend's because he just broke up with his boyfriend but then the apartment was too quiet and I couldn't handle it and now I'm just walking aimlessly around because I can't be alone right now but I don't have anyone else to call-"

"Where are you?" he asks, and she can hear the sound of the subways in the background of his line, the faint whoosh and rumble. "I'll come find you."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," he says softly, and she reels off where she is by the landmarks, her voice tripping over her tears. "I won't be long. Do you need me to stay on the line?"

"Yes please," she says softly. "Vizh, I'm sorry-"

"I'd rather have that conversation in person," he says, and she nods wordlessly, wiping her eyes and watching eyeliner smear across her palm. "I can tell you something nice?"

"I'd like that," she says, and she can almost see his smile.

"I'm thinking about fostering a cat," he says, and she leans back beneath the awning of the nearest shop and smiles into the phone. "I don't have any international trips for at least six months now. I've been looking at options."

"I think you'd find it hard to give a pet up," she says, and he chuckles soft and warm in her ear.

"Then perhaps I should say I'm thinking about adopting a cat," he says, and she smiles. "I'd let you meet them first."

"Even after-"

"In person," he says, and she quiets.

"How was your day at work?" she finally asks, and he's obviously grateful for the harmless thread of conversation. He starts telling her about meetings and the secretary who brought her baby in to meet the staff and his designer who just came back from their honeymoon, and she sinks into the rhythms of his voice. He's calming, stopping her tears, and when she finally glimpses him on the same street as her he seems golden in the grey day.

He pulls her into his arms as soon as he's close enough, and something about the clean scent of him and his warmth makes her start crying again. She buries her face in his chest, no doubt getting make-up on his white shirt, and he strokes her hair, whispering soothing nonsense. "I'm taking you home," he says, and she nods into his chest. "Your home."

A cab turns up for them, and she curls into his side on the seat, letting him calm her until her sobs have stopped and her tears have dried into silvery tracks on her face. He handles her like glass, and when they're finally in her apartment she turns to him and says, "You don't have to stay-"

"You said you can't be alone," he says, and he's in her kitchen, boiling the kettle. She's watching him, grey suit perfectly fitted to him, white shirt broken up by suspenders, those damn glasses, and despite all recent mistakes there's still a quiver of lust for him heating her. "I won't let you be alone, Wanda."

"Even after what I did?" she asks, her voice coming out small and thin, and he looks over at her. Those blue eyes that have haunted her dreams, wide and full of regret, and she shrugs slightly. "I thought you were mad at me."

"I was mad at _myself_ , Wanda," he says. "I should never have let it get so far-"

"You rejected me," she says. She sounds pathetic even to her own ears, and the look he gives her makes her want to curl up and die. "I kissed you, I made it _incredibly_ clear what I wanted, and you pushed me off."

"Wanda, it...it's not that I'm not attracted to you-"

"You sure made it seem like you're not," she says, a petulant child, and he steps out of the kitchen, a mug of tea in each hand. And she hates him, hates the fact that he'll have made her tea just how she likes, hates the soft look he's giving her.

"Wanda, darling, you know you're beautiful," he says, and she blinks at the pet name. The way it makes her want him, want that word breathed hot and glowing onto her skin in the throes of passion. "And I'm not oblivious. I knew you were flirting with me."

"Then why didn't you _do_ something?" she asks, and he bows his head in shame. "Why did you wait for me to kiss you first and leave me humiliated when you pushed me away?"

"We agreed that there would be no strings attached between us-"

"It wasn't about the money!" she snaps, and he winces. "It was about me being attracted to you! It was about me _wanting_ you, how much I've wanted you since I met you, and you just...you made me feel so _stupid_."

"That was never my intention," he says, and he reaches for her hand, his fingers sliding between her. "Wanda, I am _desperately_ attracted to you. But you...you deserve better. I'm too old for you-"

"Says who?"

"Tony was horrified thinking you were there as my date at the Gala," he says, and she bristles. "He asked me what I was playing at, seeing someone so young-"

"I don't care about the age gap," she says. "I don't give a shit about what anyone thinks-"

"You don't want me, Wanda," he says, and she stares him down. "I...I haven't been with anyone in a long time, and the last time I was, it...it didn't end well."

"Then tell me what happened," she says, and he blinks at her. "Vizh, _please_. Make me understand."

"I was engaged," he says, and she blinks. She doesn't remember that on his Wikipedia page. "I was in love. I thought I'd be with her forever. And then she left. Two months before the wedding. She told me she'd never really loved me, but then the company took off and she stayed. But even the money wasn't worth staying for anymore. And since then, I...I haven't...I'm scared to let anyone get close."

"Is that why you wanted no strings with us?" she asks, and he nods, and his eyes are shining with sadness, and she wants to pull him close and kiss away the bad memories. "Vizh, she was a bitch. Of course there's more to you than the money. And I've benefitted massively from your money and how generous you are with it, but that's not why I want you."

"What do you see in me, Wanda?" he asks, and it's so genuine. He really doesn't understand, and she squeezes his hand, moving closer to him.

"You're handsome," she says softly, and a blush starts to colour his cheeks. "You're _so_ handsome. And you're sweet, and you're smart, and you're sexy. You just came rushing to find me because I called you crying after we hadn't spoken for three weeks."

"None of that matters, I'm still too old for you-"

"I don't give a flying fuck," she says, and he stares at her for a second. Then he closes the gap between them and kisses her, and she sighs against his lips before she leans into it.

The dining table creaks behind them when she turns and presses him against it, kissing him harder, sinking her fingers into his hair. The kind of kiss meant to lead somewhere, and she slides her hand beneath his blazer, pulling it off and dropping it to the ground. "I hope that wasn't expensive," she breathes into the kiss, and he chuckles low in his chest, hand in her hair.

"I don't think you care either way," he breathes, and she smiles up at him.

"Of course I don't," she says, and surges up onto her tiptoes to kiss him again. His hand folds over the small of her back, drawing her closer, the sweetness of the kiss turning heated, her tongue in his mouth and his soft answering groan.

"We don't have to do anything," he says when she pulls away, and his fingertips bite into her back when she starts to kiss down his neck. " _Oh_ , we...you were upset."

"And now I'm not," she says simply, and lets her hand fall out of his hair to trace down the buttons of his shirt. "And there's something I've wanted to do to you since the second I first saw you."

"What?" he asks, blinking at her, his eyes dark with lust, and she smirks up at him as she sinks to her knees, and his eyes go wide behind his glasses. "Oh, you...you don't have to, I don't need-"

"I _want_ to," she says, reaching for his zipper, watching the ragged rise and fall of his chest. "I really want to. I've thought about it...God, too many times."

"I don't-" She unzips him, looks at him and smirks, and watches his fingers clench around the edge of the table. "Wanda, I haven't...since Eve left me, I haven't-"

"How long?" she asks, staring at his hip bones exposed where she's shoved his shirt up, so tempted to bite.

"Seven years," he breathes, and she looks up and gives him an angelic smile.

"I'll make it good for you," she coos, and slowly kisses her way down his abdomen, mouthing at him over his underwear until he groans her name, and she rewards the slight jerk of his hips by tugging his underwear down and sinking her mouth around him.

His moans echo around her apartment as she bobs her head and sucks, looking up at him from beneath her lashes as she snakes a hand down her stomach and between her legs, touching herself in time to the rhythm of her mouth on him. " _Shit_ ," he hisses, and triumph sings through her, encouraging her to suck harder. "Oh _God_ , _Wanda_ , I...don't stop, _please_."

If she was pettier, she'd be annoyed that all of her seductive outfits were wasted, that she has him like this while wearing ripped jeans and a too-big jumper. But it's enough to have him like this, his hand resting on the back of her head, his head tipped back in ecstasy, his knuckles white on the table because of _her_. When he comes with a yelp of her name, hard and sudden, she gets back to her feet to kiss him, cling to him and smile against the insistent press of his mouth.

"You're welcome," she says with a sunny smile when they break apart, and he smiles dopily at her. "And now that's done-"

He pulls her close, kisses her again, and his voice is low when he breathes, "I'm not done with you yet, Wanda." And she grins as he kisses her again, pulls him back onto the couch and on top of her, grappling with his tie and the buttons of his shirt and the clasps of his suspenders, just to have him bare-chested on top of her, running her hands across his skin.

"So what are you going to do with me?" she asks as he kisses her neck, trying to keep her voice steady and not let out a moan as he sucks her skin between his lips.

"I want to return the favour," he breathes, and his hand is opening the button of her jeans, coaxing her hips up to pull them down, and he's sliding onto his knees on the floor, pulling her towards him. His eyes are dark and the flush is spilling down his neck and chest, hair in his eyes, and she runs her fingers through his hair and hooks her legs over his shoulders, her eyes falling close as his kisses trail up the inside of her thigh.

And _fuck_ , he knows what he's doing. His tongue works her in ways that should be illegal, her toes curling into his back, his hands bruising her hips pulling her against him. Every moan he lets out hums against her, sends bolts of arousal through her, and she clutches at his hair, rolling her hips against his face. "Fuck me, Vizh," she breathes, and he plunges a finger into her, and she clenches down on him and cries out his name.

When he slides back up her body in a trail of soft kisses over her clothed upper half, she smiles dazedly into his eyes, and says, "Do you remember what I said the first time we met?"

"Something about wanting my worldly experience?" he asks, and she smiles.

"So you _did_ pick up on the innuendo," she teases, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss her again.

"Believe me, Wanda, I picked up on every innuendo," he says. "Your flirting is...not subtle."

"You weren't responding, I had to pull out all the stops," she says, and kisses him again, tangling herself around him. "Can you go again?"

"I'm not _that_ old-"

"Fantastic," she breathes, and kisses him harder, wrapping her legs around him until he stands from the couch, adjusts her in his arms, and carries her to her bedroom. He tips her back onto the bed, and she wastes no time pulling her jumper over her head and unclasping her bra, pulling his hands up to cover her breasts.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, making her breathing go raspy. "You're so beautiful."

"Show me what experience gets you, Vizh," she says, and the tips of his ears flame red.

"I haven't had sex in seven years-"

"Well, if your mouth is anything to judge by, you definitely haven't lost any skill," she says, and though he's blushing there's still pride twisted into his smirk. "I want you to fuck me, Vizh."

"Oh _God_ ," he breathes, and leans down to kiss her, devouring her. Setting her alight, and she gropes into her nightstand for a condom, pressing the packet insistently into his hand. "We don't have to-"

"I know we don't have to, but I want to," she says, lying beneath him and smiling at him, looking at him. His glasses are still in place, his hair falling forward, and she wants him so badly she can barely breathe. "I thought about this after...after the Gala. After you kissed my hand."

"I have to apologise for that, it was inappropriate-"

"I just sucked your dick, and now you're apologising for kissing my hand?" she teases, and he ducks his head bashfully, forehead tucked onto her collarbone. She turns her head to kiss his neck, fingers curling into his hair, and breathes, "I bought that dress thinking about you taking it off. I fucked myself in my hotel bed thinking about you through the wall. Fantasising that you could hear me and you'd come through the door and take me right there."

"I did hear you," he says softly. "You have no idea the restraint it took...you have no idea what you do to me."

"I think I do," she says, lifting her hips against his cock, and he groans her name. "Why didn't you come and fuck me? I clearly wanted you to."

"I took a cold shower instead," he says, and she giggles. "I foresee a lot of cold showers in my future."

"I'm your future?" she asks, and something so sweet and sincere for them being naked in her bed crosses his face.

"This isn't just about lust for me anymore, Wanda," he says softly, his eyes so blue and his voice so gentle. "I...I do have feelings for you. Something that could be more, I think. If we want it to be."

"I want it to be," she says, and he smiles so brightly. He leans down to kiss her, his hand fitting under the small of her back and flipping them so she's on top of him, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she rolls the condom onto him, his eyes shining dark with want. "So can I tell my roommates I lost a sugar daddy but gained a boyfriend?"

"I'll still pay for your tuition, don't be silly-"

"As long as I get the extra benefits," she says sweetly, and shifts her hips to sink onto him. His head snaps back and he groans her name, and she leans forward to kiss his temple, shove his glasses back up his nose.

"I should take them off-"

"Don't you dare," she whispers, and he blinks at her. "You look so fucking sexy in nothing but those glasses."

"You're going to be the death of me," he says, and she smirks and leans forward to kiss him as she starts to grind into him. The kissing turns to gasping into each other's mouth, his hands tightening on her hips, and her moaning his name as his cock stretches her so perfectly, the movement of her hips speeding up.

"Move with me," she breathes, and his hips join hers, matching her rhythm. Fast, hard, ripping a cry from her, and his hand drifts from her hip to between her legs, thumb expertly finding her clit. "Oh my _God_ , _fuck_ , _Vizh_."

"You're perfect," he whispers, and kisses her, and when his hand curves around her back and pulls her harder onto his cock she cries out and comes, the world flaring white for a moment.

And she comes back in time to find him watching her, and she whispers, "Come for me, Vizh." Moans faintly when his hips jerk up into her again, short sharp thrusts until he groans her name and comes, and kisses his temple as he gasps into her shoulder, both of them slick with sweat.

They take a long time to separate, and she still keeps sneaking glances at him while they get dressed. When she opens her bedroom door to retrieve his blazer, she finds Darcy perched on the couch, smirking, and says, "I thought you were staying at Jimmy's tonight."

"Oh, the ex called, they're having a big getting back together chat, and I didn't want to be around that," she says, and then smirks. "The whole apartment stinks of sex. You don't have anything to do with that, do you? And don't lie to me, your hair is completely screaming that you just got fucked."

"Wanda?" She smiles when Vision's arm slides around her, and Darcy's jaw drops open like it's on a hinge. And Vision smiles softly at her roommate and says, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Vizh, Darcy, Darcy, Vizh," Wanda says, thrilling at Darcy's utter disbelief, Vision's kiss on her shoulder. "If you're here too, Darce, will we order takeout?"

"We will if you tell me why he's here," she says, and Wanda smirks.

"I'm hanging out with my boyfriend," she says, and feels the curve of Vision's smile against her neck. "Wanna get dinner with us or not?"

"Hmm, to third wheel a honeymoon phase couple or to go back to Jimmy's and listen to him wax lyrical about his boyfriend," Darcy says, and gets up without another word, closing the door behind her.

"Thank God she didn't notice your blazer on the floor," she says, and Vision chuckles into her shoulder.

"What did you say about takeout?" he asks, and she turns in his arms and smiles up at him.

"In the spirit of celebrating resolving the sexual tension," she says, and he shakes his head fondly at her. "And afterwards...well, do you think you're young and virile enough for round three?"

"I'll show you virile," he says, low in his chest. Practically growls at her. And she giggles as he pulls her back into his arms.


End file.
